


If I Jump, Would I Survive?

by pen_rabbit



Series: Rise [4]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012), Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, First Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pen_rabbit/pseuds/pen_rabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dark Knight Rises: an Inception origins story, part four. </p>
<p>In which there are questions, meetings, and not very many answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Jump, Would I Survive?

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, my eternal gratitude to my superb beta omletlove, without whom this story would be much, much less; and thanks also to my amazing and tireless cheerleaders, dayari and viennajones. <3

His face is naked. He can’t seem to stop touching it, though, stroking careful fingers down his nose, over his lips.

He has lips again. He stands in front of the mirror and can’t take his eyes away from their strange curves. Even before, he never knew what his face looked like. There were no mirrors down there, and he never really cared any way. Now, though, now he sees his new face reflected back at him a thousand times a day, in windows and glass, in the metal of his cutlery or the shiny finish of the polished furniture. It’s extremely disconcerting. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s done a double-take, surprised by his reflection.

Talia’s the same. She keeps looking over at him, like she doesn’t dare take her eyes off him in case it isn’t real. Every time she looks at him there’s this gleam in her eyes, delighted and incredulous and so happy he has to believe that it’s worth it.

She tells him it’s handsome, beautiful, just as she remembers, but he doesn’t know if he believes her. Not that it matters, anyway. No one is going to be looking at him for anything like that. He wouldn’t want them to.

He still has to fight the urge to keep his face covered. It’s instinctive, automatic, safe. His mouth is no longer used to conveying emotion through a smile, a frown, a twitch of a lip. It acts on its own sometimes, and he fights to control it. He can’t stand the thought that it might tell others things he doesn’t want it to.

And then, somehow, he’s also forgotten how to telegraph a thought in the same way. Smiles come slowly as the pain fades beneath the doctor’s drugs. Frowns are more instinctive, and the subtleties of mood are hardest. He studies others, watches Alfred, watches Lucius, steals the habits of their faces and tries to fit them into his own.

He’s still not entirely used to having so much ability for expression, but now that it doesn’t hurt, he laughs more than he ever did before.

In the dreams, though – in the dreams, it’s different. When he dreams for the first time, standing with Lucius on an unfamiliar street and staring around at the creation of their minds, he sees his reflection in a shop window.

He doesn’t have a face at all.

 

+++

 

They both agreed to the dreaming. Alfred isn’t surprised.

He insists the first dream session takes place in the mansion, though, in a place they both know well, where he can stay and supervise. Lucius has been careful to warn them of the risks, to detail the whole procedure, and to make sure they know what to expect, but Alfred wants to be there as well. Just to be safe.

The shadow – Eames, Alfred corrects himself, he really must get used to their new names – goes first. This isn’t a surprise. From the look she gives him this has been discussed beforehand, and she isn’t impressed.

That isn’t a surprise, either.

Nor is the way she sits by and watches for every second of that first five minutes, turning a knife over and over in her fingers. When he blinks awake, eyes wide and incredulous, newly-bare mouth gasping, hand flying to his face, she’s right beside him, talking to him softly. He calms quickly, fingers moving down her arm like he’s assuring himself she’s real, and that she’s really there.

Alfred turns away, then. It’s not his business, after all.

 

+++

 

The dreaming is not what Talia expects. From what Saheb had told her, she had pictured something far more – idealised, maybe, foggy, or dreamlike. Different. But this is just like the real world, except for the places it isn’t.

Lucius shows her a city he says is like Paris, the place she is supposed to have grown up. She has to take his word for it, of course, as she’s never been. But she loves it just the same, and hopes Paris will be just as beautiful when she visits it for real.

Dreams are easy, she thinks. As easy as falling asleep. As easy as waking up.

It’s harder for Saheb, though.

Every time he wakes, he looks for her. He touches her arm, or her hair, or just stares at her until he’s sure she’s there. That she’s real. Every single time he wakes. Even in their bed in the mornings, though she knows he thinks she doesn’t see. They haven’t dreamed together yet, just singly or with Lucius, so if she is there beside him, he must be awake. She has to be real.

It scares her. She worries about him, because what if she’s not there? What if one day he wakes without her, and - but she can't finish the thought. She wants to tell him to stop, that it’s too dangerous, that he could get lost if he’s not careful. But Talia knows as long as she keeps dreaming, he will do so as well. Overprotective is too mild a word for it, she thinks, fondly. 

It is clear another solution needs to be found, however. A way to keep track of the real world in case she’s not there. She can’t think of any reason she’d ever be anywhere else, but nonetheless, precautions should be taken. It is a problem to which she doesn’t know the answer, though. Not yet, anyway. She will keep thinking about it.

There is a second problem that must be solved, also. She promised Alfred an explanation, back in the hospital. He has taken her into his family. He deserves to know. But how to explain? That, however, is more easily answered.

And so, one afternoon, she finds him. “Will you dream with me today?” she asks.

Alfred pauses. “I… rarely dream,” he says, looking away. There’s something in his face that look like fear, though she doesn’t understand it. The dreaming is safe, Lucius said so. Alfred has never dreamed with them, though. Perhaps he is afraid of what she might see in his head. She knows he has seen terrible violence, though he doesn’t know she has seen the same.

Talia takes his hand. “Please? There are things I would like to show you.”

There’s a long pause. Then, Alfred sighs, and looks up to meet her eyes. “Very well, my dear.”

She smiles, pleased, and he smiles back.

 

+++

 

Gotham is exactly as he remembers it. It isn’t a surprise, not really. Cobb is fascinated, pressing his nose to the window as their car crosses the bridge, the driver swearing at the traffic. Arthur rolls down his own window, just a little.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Cobb asks. “I mean – this is Gotham.”

Arthur shoots him a look, one eyebrow raised. Cobb frowns, but falls silent. Arthur turns back to watching the familiar skyline get closer. The cold air smells like smoke, like burnt rubber, and like home. He wishes, vainly, that he was somewhere, anywhere else.

But he’s still under orders, even though his loyalty to the armed forces is largely theoretical these days.

(“This is a very important mission, Blake.” The officer had scowled down his nose at Arthur, clearly not happy about sending a trained veteran to babysit Cobb on what was essentially a glorified delivery run. “This technology must be protected at all costs. You are responsible for the device, and for the civilian as well. Do not allow anything to happen to them.”

“Yessir,” Arthur had replied.

The officer had grunted. “The military cannot be seen to be associated with this project at this current stage of operations. That means you’re going civilian on this one. You’re from Gotham originally?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. Officially, you’re on leave, visiting home with a colleague. Keep your nose clean, stay out of trouble, and bring the stupid machine back to us fixed. Understood?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. A small budget will be provided, but you’ll make your own arrangements. Now get out of my office.”)

Still staring out the window, Arthur runs a hand down the leg of his civvies, pulling at the loose places, one knee bumping the silver briefcase leaning on his legs. There’d been no time to pick up anything decent, so he’s wearing a pair of Cobb’s jeans. They’re baggy, held up by a belt, bunching in all the wrong places. He misses his uniform. Once they reach the hotel, he’ll go out and find something more suitable. They’re scheduled to meet Mr Fox at Wayne Enterprises in two days’ time. That’s plenty of time to sort out a few things. He might even manage a visit to Father Reilly.

Of course, he’d have to find an excuse to leave Cobb behind. Trying to explain a visit to an orphanage in the slums is pretty much out of the question. He might trust the man more than he had a few weeks ago, but he certainly isn’t ready to share that part of his past. Cobb knows he’s been to Gotham before, knows he’s familiar with the city, but that’s all. Arthur plans to keep it that way. Still, maybe he can plant Cobb in front of the television for a few hours or something.

Cobb’s still wide-eyed with wonder when they pull up, craning his neck to look at everything and almost stumbling on the curb as Arthur unloads their suitcases and tips the driver.

“Jesus, Cobb, watch yourself.”

“Sorry! It’s just – it’s bigger than I expected, that’s all.” He’s still staring at the high-rises as he follows Arthur into the hotel. It’s a small place, neat, but not fancy. Good value for the money, and a half-decent location. Arthur glances around with satisfaction as he checks them in.

“Arthur,” Cobb whispers, close behind him. “Arthur, are you sure this place is okay? I mean, is it safe? It doesn’t even have a doorman!”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, Cobb. This is a good part of town. You could even go for a walk if you wanted – as long as you were back before dark. I wouldn’t go out after dusk, though. Not around here, anyway.”

This is a carefully calculated lie, of course. Cobb is very clearly an easy mark, and there’s no way Arthur’s letting the idiot out of his sight any time soon, day or night. He’s been charged with protecting both the PASIV device and the attached academic, and he’s going to do exactly that. It might be called overprotective or hyper-paranoid, but Arthur doesn’t trust Cobb not to start talking classified dream-theory with the first pretty, listening ear he finds.

The lie works, of course. Cobb squeaks, and tries to stand even closer. “That’s fine! I don’t need to go for a walk! I’ll just stay with you, if that’s okay? That is okay, right, Arthur?”

Arthur hides a smirk. “Yeah, that’s fine. Stick with me, I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Cobb smiles. “I knew I could count on you.” He pauses. “How long did you say we were going to have to stay here for?”

“Depends,” Arthur shrugs. “Unless you know how long this thing is going to take to fix?” He hefts the silver briefcase. Cobb shakes his head. “Then I guess we’ll just have to see.”

“I hope it doesn’t take too long,” says Cobb. “I’m not sure Gotham is really my kind of city.”

“You’re probably right,” Arthur agrees, hiding his smile.

 

+++

 

Alfred doesn’t know why he agreed to this.

Well, no, that’s not entirely true. He knows exactly why he agreed to this – because she asked him. That doesn’t mean he isn’t regretting it as Lucius slips the needle into his arm. But she promised to tell him about her past, and if he’s not very much mistaken, that is what this will be. For her trust, he can put up with a little discomfort. His skin crawls as Lucius presses the button, and then everything is fading. He fights the instinctive urge to panic as it swallows him.

He opens his eyes in a dark place. He blinks against the dim shadows as his eyes slowly adjust. There’s a light far above, but it’s a long way off.

Alfred looks around, confused. He’s in a cell, in what seems to be some sort of prison. The door is unlocked, though, so he makes his way out, following the corridor until it opens into a vast circle of stairs, climbing up to a far-away sky. 

He’s in a hole, he realises, and swallows hard. Claustrophobia has never been one of his fears, but for a moment his breath is caught in his throat, tight and choking, suffocating just like he will, deep under the ground – 

Alfred forces his mind away from that thought. Focuses on breathing. In, out. There is air even in a horrible, lifeless place like this. He’ll be all right.

“What do you think?”

He turns around. She’s wearing the flower-patterned sundress he bought her, and she should look as out of place as it’s possible to be. Instead, she looks more comfortable than he’s ever seen her. Almost like she’s –

– at home, his mind completes automatically, and Alfred’s eyes widen. “Is this….?” he can’t finish the sentence.

“This is where I was born,” she says. “In one of the upper cells.”

Alfred gropes for something to say, but can’t find anything.

“Is it shameful?” she asks, head tilted to one side. “My father told me it was, and said that I should never mention it. But he was wrong about a lot of things, so I don’t know how much I believe him anymore.”

“Your… father?” Alfred manages. He thinks of the shadow – of Eames – for a moment, but can’t seem to see them as father-and-daughter. It just doesn’t fit. “Was he down here too?”

She frowns. “Of course not.”

Alfred just blinks at her, and she sighs. “Very well. I will tell you the whole story. But not here, it’s not safe.”

Alfred feels a little bit like a parrot. “Not safe?” he echoes.

“Of course not,” she says. “We’re in the open, and I am wearing the dress you gave me. I’m surprised we have not been attacked already. But don’t worry, I have my knife, and you can always dream up a gun.”

She skips away, darting down the stairs, surefooted on the crumbling old stone. One hand trails along the wall, light and familiar. Alfred follows her down, down, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. Soon he’s stumbling, unable to see the path in the darkness, struggling to keep up. She slows for him, and he knows it’s a condescension but he can’t bring himself to resent it.

Finally, they come to a small alcove. She smiles. “Here,” she says, sitting down and tucking herself against the rock. Alfred lowers himself down carefully, hand on the wall. He can feel something carved there, rough beneath his fingers, though he can’t work out what it might be.

“This was our place,” she tells him. “No one should bother us here.”

“Your place?”

“Saheb and me. After – well. I suppose I ought to start at the beginning, shouldn’t I? Like in the stories.” She takes a deep breath, blows it out. Alfred waits, uneasy, trying to be patient. The rock digs into his back, and he shifts carefully, trying to get comfortable.

She’s silent for a few moments, staring off into the distance, but then she speaks. “Once upon a time, there was a warlord. He had a daughter. She fell in love a mercenary, a good man, a kind man, but a strong one too. Her father didn’t approve, but she was young, and she thought he would change his mind if only she could show him how strong and how good her love was. So she married him, secretly, thinking her father would surely accept the man once he grew to know him better.”

Alfred stays silent.

She leans her head back against the wall. “The warlord’s daughter was young, and she was foolish and naïve. Her father was furious. He sentenced the mercenary to life imprisonment in the worst prison in the world. But she begged and pleaded and wept for mercy for him, ceaselessly, until her father grew even angrier and declared that she might take his place, if she chose.”

Alfred inhales sharply. Talia doesn’t seem to hear. She continues. “She accepted. Her love was a good man, and she knew he would come for her. She went happily, knowing that he would return and rescue her soon, and then they would be together.” A pause. “He never came. She bore his daughter in the dark, locked in a tiny cell for her own safekeeping, and died a few years later when the doctor forgot to lock the door.”

Gingerly, Alfred reaches out a hand, rests it on her shoulder. Talia stiffens, but before he can move away, she sighs, leans into the touch. “Saheb saved me when the other prisoners killed my mother,” she says, low. “I was still very small. He brought me down here and kept me safe, fought off the others and told me stories of another world, where there was no roof and the sky never ended. Where, sometimes, people weren’t vicious and cruel.”

“The Knights of the Round Table,” says Alfred, unthinking, then presses his lips together, wishing he could take the words back.

She snorts. “I loved that story,” she says. “His version was different to the written one, though. Happier.”

“I knew you were reading it,” Alfred confesses. “That’s what made me think of your new name.”

There’s a short pause. Then, “Mallorie. Like Thomas Mallory.” She laughs. “I didn’t realise.”

“I’m sorry,” Alfred says. “I - I’m sorry, Talia. I didn’t know. You should change it. Pick something else. Something not tied to bad memories.”

“No,” she says, decisive. “No, I shall keep it. But I shall make it my own. You will call me Mal.”

“Mal,” Alfred says. “But the French –”

“I know,” she says, smiling. “Is it not perfect? I am the product of my birthplace, after all.”

“You’re good, child,” Alfred tells her, hand tightening on her shoulder. “You’re a good person.”

“No, I’m not,” she says, matter-of-fact. “I’ve killed before, and I shall again if I must. I do not even regret it.”

Alfred shakes his head. “You are so much more than that, my dear.”

“Nonetheless, I shall be Mal.” She nods, firm and resolute. “It suits me, I think.”

Alfred cannot disagree with that. And, he thinks, it will be a warning, for anyone who tries to get too close. He gives up and changes the subject. “How did you come to leave this place?”

Her face closes. “It is possible to climb out, if one is fearless. If one is strong enough, and does not look down. But no one else ever had.” She takes a deep breath, shuts her eyes. “There was a lot of noise, and so many people. They wanted to kill me. He tried to fight. He was the strongest of them all, but there were so many. He got me to the bottom of the steps, and told me to rise. I did. They pulled him back down.”

Alfred can imagine the noise, the shove of vicious bodies, the terror of being too small to fight back. Inside his head, he can hear a small child screaming as her only protector is pulled away from her. He knows it could not possibly come close to what she experienced.

“I rose. I found my father, I brought him back here, and he saved my friend. But it was too late. His face…. it happened because of me. Because he saved me.”

He pulls her close. “It’s not your fault, child. You couldn’t have prevented it. There was nothing you could do.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know, but I still hate it. I hate it so much.”

“You came back for him,” Alfred says. “You freed him. You found me, and together we made him better. He is better now.”

“My father thought he was a monster,” she says, soft. “He tried to kill my protector, my only friend in the world, because he thought he was broken and could not be fixed.”

“You stopped him,” Alfred says. It’s not a guess. “You kept him safe.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “We ran. The League of Shadows is hard to escape, but we managed it. And then we found you.”

“The League of Shadows?”

She tips her head back. “My father is Ra’s al Ghul, head of the League of Shadows. They are strong, stronger than anything, and he wishes to burn your city to the ground. He wants to reduce Gotham to ashes, to bring balance back to the world.”

Alfred sucks in a breath, throat suddenly gone dry. “And what do you think?”

“I thought he was right, at first,” she says. “What he said made sense. The city is corrupt, evil, beyond saving. It deserves to burn. The only possible choice was death.”

“But?”

“He thought the same about my friend,” she whispers. “He thought the same about Saheb. And then you saved us, you from Gotham, and you made him better. Your doctors made him better. My father would have given him death, but you gave him life instead. And now – now I don’t know what to believe.”

“There is evil in Gotham,” Alfred says, slowly, careful. “But there is evil anywhere that men live. We cannot destroy it entirely without destroying ourselves, too.”

“Justice is balance,” she says. “That’s what he always used to say.”

“Maybe it depends on who decides the balance,” says Alfred.

She leans her head on his shoulder. “Maybe,” she says.

They sit in silence for a while.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Alfred says. “Mal.”

She smiles at him, a small thing, but enough to make his heart squeeze tight in his chest. He can hear music, echoing down from above. He closes his eyes, and wakes.

 

+++

 

Wayne Tower is bigger than Arthur remembers. They take the monorail, direct and easy. The building really is the heart of the city, Arthur thinks. Too bad the rest of the place is so diseased.  He straightens his tie, checks his cuffs, and wishes he’d been able to afford a better suit.

Finding the right department takes longer, as no one seems to know that the Applied Sciences Department exists, let alone where it might be located. They get there in the end, though, and Mr Fox is welcoming and friendly.

“I’m Dominic Cobb. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Cobb introduces himself, reaching out to take Fox’s hand. “And my associate, Arthur Bl-.”

“Pleasure,” Arthur echoes, jumping in before Cobb can finish his surname. He smiles politely, and shakes hands in turn.

“Yes, welcome,” says Fox. He eyes them both, clearly curious. “Now, I understand you’ve managed to break one of my PASIVs, is that right? Only they were a little vague when they told me why you were coming.”

“That’s right,” Cobb says. He smiles, self-deprecating. “I’ve done some basic work on them before, with Professor Miles Pennyworth, but I’m afraid I’m hopelessly out of my depth this time.”

“Is that right?” Fox raises an eyebrow. “Well, I guess we’d better take a look then.”

Cobb keeps talking as Fox lifts the PASIV onto the table, running careful hands over the shiny metal. Arthur watches closely, tuning Cobb out as he rattles on about university and working with Miles in the past and how exciting it is to be meeting the inventor and other such nonsense.

Fox clearly isn’t paying attention to Cobb either, just humming in agreement every so often as he starts pulling the device to pieces. Arthur leans forward, fascinated, as each part is placed carefully to the side.

“How did you say this happened?” Fox asks, cutting over Cobb.

Arthur jumps in before Cobb can respond. “We’re not sure, Mr Fox,” he says. “There was an incident with one of the dreamers when he left the program, however. It’s possible he had – regrets.”

Cobb blinks, frowns, but lets Arthur’s version stand.

Fox hums, still elbows-deep in machinery. “Well, that makes sense. I don’t see how else this could have happened.”

“What’s that?” Arthur asks. He steps in, careful not to touch, not to get in the way, but positioning himself as close as he can.  

“There’s all kinds of damage to the superficial housing, but the inner mechanism is mostly intact. You’ve been lucky. This is repairable. It’ll only take me a few hours to put back to rights. Come back this afternoon, it’ll be ready for you then.”

“Really?” Arthur says, surprised. “I thought –” he trails off, suddenly uncertain. He hadn’t been permitted a close look after the device broke, but he’d had the impression that the damage had been extensive.

Fox gives him a look. “Are you an engineer – Arthur, was it?”

“No, sir.”

“Well then, perhaps you’d do better to leave it to the experts, hm?”

Arthur flushes. “Yessir.”

Fox nods, turns back to the machine. There’s a clear dismissal in the line of his back.

Cobb is frowning at him. Arthur takes a breath, blows it out, takes another one. He looks back over at all the pieces scattered across the workbench, watches Fox attach a few wires to the central system. None of it makes any sense. Unless – oh. “Sir?”

Fox doesn’t even look at him. “What is it, son?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m a bit confused. I know I’m not an engineer, but this doesn’t seem right. Is the damage in the superficial housing of the somnacin storage, or of the IV lines? Because those were checked in house. Hell, I know how to fix those, and I only know what I could make the dim-witted tech teach me. It would take a few minutes, not a few hours. And there’s no reason for you to be taking apart the central infusion mechanism or downloading the data from the activation systems if they’re not damaged.”

“Arthur!” Cobb hisses, his glare intensifying. Arthur ignores him, stands his ground. Fox was going to switch their broken PASIV for a functional version and hope they didn’t notice the difference. Arthur has no idea why, but Fox clearly wants them out of the lab now, and he wants them gone by the end of the day. He doesn’t want them here, period.

Fox has stopped moving now, hands falling still, eyes on his device. “Is that what you think?” he says, soft, curious, not quite accusatory.

Arthur knows he’s right. He keeps going. “Transferring the data from this PASIV to a new one would take a few hours. Which is why you want us gone.” He raises an eyebrow. “Look - you want to swap it out, be my guest. I don’t give a shit as long as we get a working model. But have the courtesy not to lie to my face about it.”

There’s a moment of silence. Then Fox turns around and meets Arthur’s eyes calmly. “You’re not like the other military goons they usually send around here, are you.” It’s not a question.

Arthur bares his teeth in the semblance of a grin. “Whatever gave you that idea, sir?”

Fox chuckles. “Well, I guess I deserved that.” He eyes Arthur speculatively. “You said you learned how to do basic maintenance?”

“Learned everything the tech could teach me,” Arthur says. “I don’t like to use a thing until I understand how it works.”

“Show me,” says Fox. He steps aside. Arthur moves closer, rolls up his sleeves.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Help me transfer the data to your new PASIV. Then if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll show you how the rest of it works.”

Arthur blinks. “Really?”

“One condition – nothing you learn here goes any further. Especially not once you get back home. They don’t need to know any of it. Understood?”

“Yessir,” says Arthur, and grins. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, son,” Lucius replies, but he’s smiling too.

Cobb pouts about being left out, because of course he does. He watches Arthur and Lucius (after the first hour, he’s ordered to use Fox’s first name. “Just stop calling me sir, okay? Please. Makes me feel way too old.”) for a while, but gets bored and starts fiddling with whatever he can find lying around the lab.

“Don’t touch that, either!” Lucius snaps. “Honestly. Are you sure he can’t come back later?” This is addressed to Arthur.

Arthur shakes his head. “He’d never last five minutes on the streets, you know that.”

Lucius sighs. “True enough, I suppose.” He glares at Cobb. “Sit still. And don’t touch anything.”

Cobb sighs. “Fine.”

It’s been a couple of hours, Arthur thinks, when a voice interrupts them.

“Lucius?” It’s a woman, calling from another room. “Are you here?”

Lucius stands up sharply. “Mal?”

“Of course. Who else?” The accent is French, Arthur thinks, but – not. Not quite. He can’t put his finger on it, though. She’s getting closer, still talking. “I came to see if you were finished here. You said you would dream with me today, and your soldiers must have gone by now, surely?”

“Uh –” Lucius starts, but he stops when a young woman steps into the room. She’s gorgeous, Arthur notes absently, though he’s more interested in the fluid way she moves across the floor. Like she’s prowling.

Cobb looks like he’s just swallowed his tongue.

Lucius sighs. “Mal,” he says. “Our guests are still here. Perhaps you could come back later?”

She pouts. Cobb leaps to his feet. “I’d be delighted to keep her company while she waits,” he says, words tripping out of his mouth, eyes still fixed on the girl’s face. “If she would like, of course,” he adds quickly.

She tilts her head to one side.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Lucius hedges. Arthur glances between them, trying to keep his curiosity hidden. Clearly not related. Sexual relationship? Unlikely, but possible.

“I would like,” Mal declares. Possibly just to be contrary, Arthur thinks, hiding a smile as Lucius clearly forces himself to bite back further disagreement.

She looks over to Cobb, and holds out one hand. “My name is Mallorie Pennyworth,” she says. “You may call me Mal.”

Cobb practically falls over himself to take the offered hand. “Dominic Cobb,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Pennyworth.” She pouts at him. “Mal,” he corrects. “Sorry. Um. Pennyworth?”

“That is what I said,” Mal says, raising one eyebrow.

Cobb grins, wide and eager and boyish. “Do you know Professor Miles Pennyworth? I mean, it’s not a very common surname, and I think he knows Mr Fox. He’s my mentor, I’m studying architecture but he’s teaching me dreaming as well, not through the uni of course, they don’t have a degree for that! Haha, no, of course they don’t.”

Mal cuts across the babbling. “Miles is my father, yes. I am staying with my Uncle Alfred at the moment, however.”

Arthur hadn’t thought Cobb’s eyes could get wider, but apparently he was wrong.

“Miles is your father!” Cobb says, clearly torn between delight and kicked-puppy-devastated. “But he’s never mentioned having a daughter before!”

Mal tilts her head to one side again. “Why would he mention that to a student?” she asks, innocently curious. “I mean, it hardly seems relevant to the education process.”

Arthur has to cough to hide a laugh. Cobb looks like she’s just taken his heart out of his chest and stomped on it, and he’s enjoyed every minute of it.

Lucius clears his throat. “Mal,” he says. “Is Eames with you?”

She blinks, pauses, and then smiles. “Yes, he is just coming. He will be here in a moment.”

“Perhaps he might prefer you both went back to the mansion?” Lucius suggests. “Instead of waiting here, I mean. We’re going to be awhile longer, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s fine,” says Mal. “He won’t mind.” She eyes Cobb again, a hint of amusement in her eyes. Arthur starts wondering just who Eames might be, and why Lucius is looking so worried.

There’s a movement from the same direction Mal came from, but Arthur can’t hear anything.

“Did you say he was coming now?” Lucius asks. He looks around. “Ah, yes!  Speak of the devil.”

“And he shall appear,” a man finishes, emerging from the shadows.

The immediate tension that Arthur feels is automatic; like the plucking of a string, his whole body is thrumming in response. He breathes, slow and careful, eyes taking in the target. But he’s not on the battlefield. It’s not a target. It’s not a threat. It’s just a man, of a height with Arthur but much broader, with a physical presence so strong it almost seems tangible. He’s also extremely good-looking, wearing a hideously ugly coat, and until he spoke, he never made a sound. Arthur narrows his eyes.

“Lucius,” the man continues. He sounds British, Arthur thinks. “I thought your military guests were to be gone this afternoon. We would never have intruded, had we known they were still here.”

Mal is smirking, eyes glittering with amusement. Lucius is holding himself quite still. “Yes, well, unfortunately we had some issues with the device,” he says. “It’s taken longer than expected. We shouldn’t be too much longer, though.”

“Dominic has said he will keep me company while I wait,” Mal pipes up. She looks over at Cobb, smiling sweetly. “Is that not kind of him, my friend?”

“Indeed,” says Eames. His voice is calm, but the weight of his gaze is palpable even to Arthur, on the other side of the room. “Very kind.”

Cobb swallows hard, eyes wide.

“My apologies,” says Arthur, stepping around Lucius, drawing the man’s attention. He’s here to protect Cobb from danger, after all, and all his instincts are telling him this man is dangerous, though he couldn’t say why. “I didn’t realise we were imposing on Lucius’s time, and yours. Mr – Eames, was it?”

The man smiles. “Yes, that’s right. And you are?”

“Arthur,” says Arthur, and leaves it at that. “We won’t be much longer.”

“Is that so, Arthur?” Eames smirks. Arthur tries not to notice that it’s a very good look on him. “Well then, we should leave you to your work. Come on, love. We can come back later.”

“I would rather stay,” Mal says. “I wish to use the PASIV this afternoon. Lucius said he would show me the university.”

“The device will be there tomorrow,” Eames says. “We will return to the manor, and Lucius can join us when he is done with his guests.”

Mal pouts, but moves to follow him. They both have the same cat-like grace, Arthur notices.

“I – ,” Cobb says, then stutters to a halt when everyone looks over at him. He clears his throat, then tries again. “I – I could dream with you, if you like? I know the university very well, really, and I’ve a lot of experience in dreaming. I’m sure it would be fine. If – if there’s a PASIV. And if nobody minds.”

Eames frowns. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Actually, I think that would be delightful,” says Mal. She shoots a look at Eames. “Do not be so overprotective, dearest. Dominic is my father’s protégé, he tells me. He could show me where my father works. I have never been there before.”

“I would be delighted!” Cobb says, eager. “We’ve used the campus as a dream landscape before. It would be easy. You –,” he turns to Eames. “You could join us? If you like?”

Eames and Mal lock gazes. There’s a long pause.

Arthur is desperately curious now. Lucius has leaned back against the workbench, clearly content to let this play out as it will despite his earlier objections. There’s a complexity here that Arthur knows he’s missing, and it itches against him like a thorn caught inside his clothing, unreachable and highly irritating.  

Then Eames sighs, looks back over at Cobb. “No. Thank you.”

Mal smiles, bright and sunny, and puts a hand on his arm. “Why don’t we go back to the manor? Dominic can accompany us, and Alfred will keep you company while we dream.”

This time Arthur frowns. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s fine, Arthur!” says Cobb. “You can join us later, or I can just meet you at the hotel.”

“Cobb, you don’t even know where the hotel is. How are you going to get back there by yourself?”

“Don’t be absurd, that’s what taxis are for. I’ll be fine!”

Lucius clears his throat. “Actually, I’m sure transport could be arranged for Mr Cobb if he has the address. And I’m sure you’d be welcome to join us for dinner, Arthur, if you like?”

Arthur looks between Mal’s sly smirk, and Eames’ broad shoulders, and tries to find a diplomatic way of declining without letting on that he’d really rather spend an evening swimming with sharks than sit through what sounds like a formal dinner with the pair of them. Good looking though they are. If Cobb wants to dive right in, though, Arthur supposes that has to be his lookout. Surely more stupid things have been done for a pretty face, even if Arthur can’t think of any right this second. “Thank you for the invitation, but I have business in the city this evening. Cobb, I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

“Wonderful!” Cobb bounces on his feet. “Where are we going?”

Arthur tries not to sigh too loudly, and turns back to the PASIV. If nothing else, at least he and Lucius will have some peace and quiet now.

Later, after the others leave, after Lucius has shown him more than Arthur could have hoped to learn, after they’ve made arrangements to meet again tomorrow (Arthur is keeping the PASIV overnight. They’d argued about it, but orders are orders and it is staying in Arthur’s custody), Arthur asks the question that’s been at the back of his head all afternoon. Well, one of them, anyway.

“What’s she like? Mal?”

After all, Dom was pretty clearly smitten. Arthur wants to know how much damage control he’s going to need to do. And it’s not like it’s likely he’ll get answers to the other hundred-odd questions he has about the woman, and about Eames. Especially about Eames.

“Mal?” Lucius looks up, smiles, and deliberately avoids answering Arthur’s real question. “She’s lovely.”

Arthur waits for a moment, hoping, but Lucius leaves it at that.

So Arthur nods, frustration carefully tucked into the corners of his smile, picks up the PASIV, and leaves quietly.

 

+++

 

 “Congratulations, traitor. We have heard you have information you wish to sell. Speak, and if you are fortunate you may be rewarded.”

“Who the fuck are you? How do you know who I am? Why should I tell you anything?”

“I am an emissary the League of Shadows. That should answer all of your questions. Now answer mine. Do you have information for us, or no?”

“I do, yeah. Valuable stuff. Top secret military secrets. It’s a project like you’ve never seen before. Worth millions – but I’m ready to settle for less.”

“You are a traitor to your army, to your country, and to your vows. Why should we believe a word you say?”

“Because that’s why I have the information. And I would never have done it if they hadn’t made me. It’s all their fault! If I give it to you, you can make them sorry they ever invented it, and it’ll serve them right. Fuckers.”

“Very well. You have access, you have motive. I may believe you have knowledge of value. But until we know what it is you wish to sell, how are we to determine its worth?”

“Well, the thing is, there are two parts: theory and practice. You get your hands on a device, I can give you both. If I give you the theory and tell you where to get the machine, will you be willing to pay what I ask for the practice?”

“If we deem it worthy, you will have your money.”

“And if not?”

“Then you will have your life, and that is a blessing to be treasured.”

“Fucking hell, why do I always have to deal with crazy people? Honestly, I ask you. You and that Blake. I dunno where all this bad karma came from, but I hope I enjoyed it.”

“Enough time-wasting. Tell us about the project.”

“This is going to sound crazy, I know, but bear with me. It’s about dreams.”

 


End file.
